


Maudlin

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [309]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 15:03:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12914406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: maudlin: adjective: MAUD-lin: weakly and effusively sentimentalfrom Merriam-Webster:The history of maudlin owes as much to the Bible as to the barroom. The biblical Mary Magdalene is often (though some say mistakenly) identified with the weeping sinner who washed Jesus' feet with her tears to repent for her sins. This association led to the frequent depiction of Mary Magdalene as a weeping penitent, and even the name Magdalene came to suggest teary emotion to many English speakers. It was then that maudlin, an alteration of Magdalene, appeared in the English phrase "maudlin drunk," which, as one Englishman explained in 1592, described a tearful drunken state whereby "a fellow will weepe for kindnes in the midst of his Ale and kisse you."





	Maudlin

**Author's Note:**

> and another bit of the Harbinger verse... an angsty bit

Sherlock stretched and slowly sat up, or tried to, then he remembered. After they had both eaten too little of the generous meal that Mrs. Hudson had brought up, they moved to the couch and they found an old episode of Monty Python's Flying Circus, soon they were laughing; John had moved closer and when Sherlock had looked away from the telly for a moment, found John had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He froze briefly, then shifted a bit and let John rest his head against his thigh and reached for the throw that was always on the back of the couch and covered him up carefully then gazed down into his face, trying to memorise each feature, just in case...

"Sorry! God - I -" John sat up, and bolted from the couch, alert, but a bit fuzzy about where he was for a moment. "Oh, bloody hell - I didn't mean. Sherlock." He placed a trembling hand on Sherlock's shoulder then watched his face intently for a moment, then moved again quickly so Sherlock could leap from the couch and into the bathroom. John sighed and followed after him.

"No - don't -" Sherlock moaned as he leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. "I - please, John."

"Shhh - I'm going to help you out of your coat and shirt - let me - you don't have to do this on your own."

"I - I've always - John - oh godddd -" John draped an arm over his shoulder and pushed his hair from his face without comment, and when he finished John gently removed his coat and the old tshirt he had thrown on yesterday, before - was it only yesterday? He made no comment on the tracks than ran down his arms, or how thin he was. He said nothing at all, just let him rest in his arms as he gently threaded his fingers through his tangled curls until Sherlock's eyes fluttered shut and he pressed his face into John's warmth taking a shuddering breath in.

"Uh-uh, come on, this is not the best place to sleep, up you get." He helped Sherlock to his feet and half carried him to the bedroom, settling him on the edge of the bed, then whispered, "I'm going to help you out of your trousers - if that's acceptable?" Sherlock managed a nod and lowered his head. "Hey, no." John placed his hand under Sherlock's chin and lifted his head gently so their eyes met. "Just keep your eyes on me, don't - we'll do this together, yeah?" 

Sherlock tried to explain that he had done all this before, this is what he had always done, would always do, but instead blinked into John's sparkling dark blue eyes, and whispered, "yes, John." 

John's eyes stayed locked into his and after a couple of moments, John was asking softly, "bath or do you want to try to sleep?"

"Sleep." Sherlock moaned and as an afterthought, he whispered, "thank you." John pulled the sheet over his hip and laid a hand in his curls, then stood up, as if he was about to leave when Sherlock grabbed onto his sleeve. "Stay. Please -" He heard John draw in a sharp breath but then he heard him undress, then walk around to the other side of the bed and climb in next to him, and without hesitation, gathered him into his arms and pressed his lips into his hair.

"Rest. I promise, Sherlock, I won't leave you." Sherlock raised his head for a moment and looked down into John's face and saw nothing but - what he supposed would be an approximation of what most people would consider an unguarded look of affection in John's shimmery eyes. He nodded and laid back down, resting his hand lightly over John's chest, and somehow fell into a deep sleep.

 

A loud annoying buzzing broke into his rather nice dream. Sherlock reached out a shaky hand for his mobile and groaned quietly. "Damn. Mycroft."

Brother mine. - MH

What. - S  
Oh. Hell. He sat up and tried to think back. Bloody Hell. The CCTV in the park. He had finally removed the last bit of surveillance from Baker Street a couple of days earlier, but hadn't considered his brother's eyes and ears in the park.

You're fortunate. A soldier and a doctor, this time. War hero, actually. Excellent record. Anthea will be arriving soon with his belongings. Do try to be polite to her this time. - MH

Thank you. - S  
He cringed as he could only imagine what his brother must be thinking.

I'll see you soon, Sherlock. - MH

 

Sherlock pressed his fingers into his eyes, then took a breath and rolled over. Sure enough, John was still there, as promised. His right arm was flung over his eyes and his tshirt had raked up a bit, exposing still well-toned muscles and a tiny butterfly on one hip. A maudlin thought swept over him; a girl, a boy? A lost love - perhaps one he had left behind - and purely by instinct, instinct he hadn't known he possessed until that moment, Sherlock brushed a tentative kiss over the tattoo, then felt John's hand tremble in his hair, then settle.

"He - I couldn't save him - I knew he was gone when I saw him go down - I ran out anyway - I didn't care - he was -"

"I'm sorry - I didn't mean -" Sherlock moved to get up but John reached out for him.

"No. Don't. I didn't think I'd ever - I haven't - there's been no one else - it's been two years - I - I had given up, Sherlock. Will you - just stay?"

Sherlock laid back against the pillows, pulling John into his arms, and whispered in a steady voice, "tell me, John. Tell me about him."


End file.
